


Hold my hand

by JanuaryBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blackberry Vanilla, Duskwights!, F/F, Fluff, I also have no solid idea of where this is going, I write everything in second person, Interconnected drabbles and oneshot things, Okay so I started writing this and I realized WoL is a huge weirdo sorry about that, Ramora is LadyRamora's OC - used with permission, There might be serious parts but don't be fooled at heart it's fluffy and a little bit crack, WoL and the adventurer problem, Yes it is in second person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/pseuds/JanuaryBlue
Summary: If someone had told you that your heroism would be the end of you, you'd nod stoically and walk off, wondering why they thought that was news to you.If someone had told you that your heroism would earn you a lifetime of happiness, you'd smile and nod, and pray they never became a hero.If anyone at all had told Ramora that she would meet a hero and that hero would fail to save her life - well, she might have actually guessed what ended up happening.Of course, in real life, nobody tells. You can never guess who becomes precious to you - you take what you can get, from the people you think can give you something. As it happens, you and Ramora have a lot more to give than either of you realize, and you both need more than you know.





	1. Vivid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRamora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRamora/gifts).



> This is dedicated to all the people thirsting for LadyRamora's OC, the eponymous Ramora. And the creator too, of course, for allowing me use of this lovely lady! Maybe ya'll can consider this your Ram route, lol. 
> 
> I have a number of ideas, some in sort of order, some not, for this series, which I swear is supposed to be fun flirting happiness but might end up with a little bit of a plotline. Please enjoy!

 

 

You meet Ramora D’aubigne when she falls off a building in Kugane, which, in retrospect, should have tipped you off about how this all was going to go.

Being a hero – being the _Warrior of Light –_ you rush to the falling body to catch her, most certainly in your arms, perhaps even jump in the air to interrupt her fall and stop her momentum –

…Or not. It would seem she’s landed, perfectly on her feet, just like a cat. Since you’d been sprinting towards her, you were only footsteps away –

Running footsteps.

It all goes predictably from there. Ramora basks in her perfect jump, smirking at some other fools who’d gone to climb the building, and she appeared ready to shout something at them when you _plow into her._

(Long after all this, you learn what happens when you use such phrases around Ramora, but of course she couldn’t hear you thinking that)

The loud, undignified squawk that comes from her does a lot of the first impression for you. It’s lucky, too, because otherwise you might have been fooled into thinking she was some sort of cool, elegant lady.

You can’t help but feel the air audibly rush out of her chest as you slam into her, the Duskwight woman’s arms darting upwards faster than you would have ever imagined to grab at _your_ shoulders, as though _she_ were trying to steady _you_.

With how fast you’d been running, it’s completely for naught; she’s knocked over immediately and you go right down with her.

“Ha!” You hear from beneath you, “Couldn’t wait to sweep me off my feet, could you?”

Brow raised, you stare down at her. “That’s an awful metaphor,” You tell her seriously, “You were already falling when I ran over here to catch you. I hadn’t realized you were so agile.”

She winks at you, and you blink in confusion – had her eyes always been so red? In the instant she stares back up at you, you realize her eyes are different colors.

“Aha, dear, you wouldn’t believe the half of it! There’s a lot more that agility is useful for – unless you want a more _thorough_ demonstration?”

You consider it for a moment. “That was a pretty long drop. _Are_ you a capable fighter? I’ve run into a few adventurers in these lands, but I’ve run into more still monsters. What sort of profession do you follow, that requires such agility?”

A Bard? Rouge, maybe? Running your eyes down her toned form, more muscular than one might expect from a mage – she could be a Lancer. Foulques was a Lancer, and you had been one too. Maybe it was a Duskwight thing?

The Duskwight lady slides her tongue across her lips before withdrawing it quickly. It’s then that you notice how very _vivid_ her lipstick is. A deep purple that didn’t quite blend into her skin, but seemed blacker in the shadows your body cast from above her.

“Not quite, my dear!” She says, in a purr lower than you would have expected, “I meant in bed.”

When had her arms wrapped around you? It occurs to you in an instant, in the sweltering heat between your two bodies, that your arms had moved between your chest and hers before you collided, and rested now quite solidly on her stomach, sliding to either side of her waist. You have to hold back a palpable sigh of relief.

If you’d accidentally touched her breasts while trying to rescue her from a fall – you can’t stop yourself from glancing down at them when you think that, and goodness, they are large for her frame – you’d never be able to live it down. Or apologize enough. What kind of idiot groped a woman while trying to rescue her? It wasn’t that hard a thing to avoid! You’d instinctively grabbed at her center of gravity, if you went any higher you’d just knock her over!

…Well, you’d knocked her over anyways, but this wasn’t quite the normal brush on the street, much less a regular rescue.

You blink down at her again.

“I don’t fight monsters in bed.” You tilt your head at her, and something in those mismatched eyes flickers at you, demanding your attention. For some undiscernible reason, you open your mouth again to speak. “Unless that is your way of saying you’re a beast between the sheets?”

“Making exceptions just for me? I’m honored!” The lady beneath you sounds legitimately pleased, her eyes and smile brightening with impish delight.

Against your better judgement, you nod at her seriously. “I can lure our enemies there, and you can eat them up. Sounds like a plan.”

She nods back at you, grinning, “A wonderful plan indeed!” Her smile fades a bit into confusion, “Wait-”

You take the moment to get up, though, sliding up onto your knees and then on your feet, offering her your hand and your name. “Sira.”

“Ram.” When she gives you her name – and her hand – you don’t expect her to yank you right back down on top of her.

But pull you down she does, and you come falling helplessly against her chest, arms flailing apart like some sort of newborn as your face is nearly buried in her breasts – you only barely manage to tilt your chin to look up at her face before you sink in. ‘Ram’ is staring down at you with a raised brow, lips quirked. You can see her lipstick shining in the light as her mouth purses.

“What’s this about enemies?” Ram says as you meet her eyes, “I came here on vacation. Vacation! Hot springs, sightseeing, relaxation. Now a beautiful lady falls into my lap and you want to run out and get all tired and sweaty?”

It’s a trap, you think to yourself.

“I run often,” You tell her, instead of saying something that made sense.

Ram smiles. “In my dreams. It must be tiring, come have a rest.”

You squint at her, and she smiles wider. You can feel laughter building in her chest, tightening as she restrains it, so she can hear your response.

Well, if she likes that sort of thing, you might as well… “Did it hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?” Ram finishes with a laugh finally escaping her.

Pressing your arms against the ground and finally lifting yourself up and off her, you continue, “I don’t know the name of the building, actually, is it called Heaven? They do have strange names here.”

Once more you offer your arm to help her up, prepared for another surprise. Eying your hand, Ram glances between there and your face for a moment, then squints at you.

“…Sweetheart, are you teasing me? An adventurer should know better than to taunt wild beasts.” With every word, her smile grows.

She must be good at reading your face, because you’ve only just begun to feel yourself smiling.

“I’ll take my chances.” You don’t wait any longer for her to take your hand; instead you snatch her arm and pull her up in one smooth motion.

At her full height, she is a tiny bit taller than you. Ram looks – ever so slightly – down at you with sparkling, intent eyes. Hovering, almost. Towering. She only had an ilm on you! Maybe two.

You frown. Really, you liked her better on the ground.

(Thinking back on it all, you _did_ have a habit of phrasing thing rather… poorly, sometimes. There was a reason you were so quiet, and it wasn’t only just because Alphinaud usually did all the talking)

“Ramora D’aubigne,” She says, with a theatrical, but light bow. “And worry not, dear! Your fair maiden is just fine, thanks to your dashing rescue!”

Her dramatic declaration is sweet enough to warm your heart and make you smile. When was the last time anyone had ever called you ‘dashing’? Much less with such a light smile and carefree attitude.

When she crosses her arms as you and pauses, giving you a good look at the whole of her, standing up in the sun, you notice.

Ramora is _beautiful._

For an elezen especially, she is lithe and full-bodied, arms toned from what indeed looked to be more than a passing acquaintance with the adventuring lifestyle. You can in fact see quite a lot of her body, though her… interesting outfit. It’s inspired by the artistic designs of these lands, that much is obvious, but it leaves surprisingly little to the imagination – a wide strap to cover her breasts, decorated with flowers, some flowing… gloves, or something, on her arms. A skirt so small you could see the underwear beneath.

Her skin is on the lighter side of a grey-blue, which you had immediately identified her as a Duskwight upon seeing; her mismatched eyes intense in color and gaze, as vivid as her lips. Her eyes are well shadowed with a strong violet, complimenting red and green alike – you’re not sure you’ve ever met anyone so colorful in your life, and it’s _gorgeous._

Dark hair feathers out at her neck, choppy and layered and framing her face immaculately. She’s also waiting for you to say something, and you’re just standing there silently.

“I _am_ sorry,” You bow your head in means of apology, “I truly thought you might be hurt, and hadn’t the time to examine your fall while I was rushing over. Full glad I am that you are unharmed.”

Slender fingers settle on your shoulder, “Unharmed, indeed. But surely not about to part ways?”

Looking up at her you decide your next order of business will be to find the highest pairs of heels possible and wear them at all times. It might not be practical for adventuring, but greater sacrifices had been made in the name of appearances.

“I suppose I do have some time…” You trail off.

You don’t exactly have time. A primal had been summoned on the mainland and you had come to gather any help you could find. But Ramora’s hand is smooth and comforting on your shoulders, tired from all the weight you must bear. Her eyes are bright and eager in a way entirely unlike you’re used to seeing from the people you meet. And you have always been bad at telling people no.

It's worth a hundred more white lies, and whatever hell you’ll have to go through when you must fight the primal without help, when Ramora grins at you and takes your hand in hers.

“How lucky to hear,” Ramora says in sing-song as she pulls you along, up the stairs, with a skip in her step, “Shiokaze, then? Just for some light drinks, of course.”

She sounds so happy to go you can’t bring yourself to say you don’t really drink.

 

As it turns out, that was a mistake.

Ram, it happens, can drink with the best of them. She downs the sweet foreign sake like it’s absolutely nothing, and you find yourself sipping at it more and more as the conversation goes on.

“What brings you to Kugane, Sira?” Ramora asks, casually finishing half her cup between words, “Exploring new lands for new adventures? Looking for new experiences – and new people to share them with?”

The way her eyes glitter at you, half-lidded and almost lurid in the warm tavern light, give her words some unintended meaning.

(Well, even _then_ you should have been able to realize that meaning was completely intended, but in your defense, no one ever hit on the Warrior of Light. They generally felt bad about flirting with someone then sending her into danger)

Instead, like the oblivious, serious hero you are, you respond, “Yes, actually. I have met a number of people since coming here, and they’ve all helped me quite a bit on my quest.”

Ramora’s eyes narrow. “Your quest?”

You consider her for a moment. Of course you had met elezen women who turned out to be Garlean spies, but you suspected they did not typically run around in bathing suits. Much too conspicuous. Besides, the best way to keep a secret sometimes was to be completely honest about it. After all, if everyone knows what the secret is, then no one will suspect it’s a secret.

“Overthrowing the Garlean regime in Othard to create an opportunity for the Alliance in Eorzea to liberate Ala Mhigo and potentially begin dismantling the Empire of Garlemald.”

She manages not to choke on her drink, but just barely. Ramora tilts her head as she examines you, squinting suspiciously, her earring catching the light as she moves. For once you’re grateful for your perpetual stoic expression. You’re told it’s a ‘very good poker face’.

“You have a very good poker face, you know that?” Ramora says finally, leaning back in her chair with a bemused smile, “I really can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

You nod. “Thank you. You have a very good regular face.”

Ramora can’t take it – she bursts out laughing. Your serious face, eyes staring her down like she was some sort of wild animal, all while keeping a friendly, open demeanor in that deadpan tone… Gods, when was the last time she’d met someone this interesting? _Did it hurt,_ indeed!

“My face is good, is it?” She preens, leaning in.

Nodding again, you take a sip, “Very good. High quality, even. I suspect it would fetch a fortune on the market boards.”

Continuing past Ramora’s snort of laughter, you set your drink down and meet her eyes dead on, reassuring her earnestly, and leaning in yourself, “Don’t worry, I would never steal your face and sell it. I’m not sure how anyone would even do something like that. You’re probably safe.”

Ramora’s grin is wide with teeth, bright white against her lips.

“That’s called a mask, darling.”

“Hm,” You tilt your head and think for a moment. “Masks don’t change expressions. I’m the one with the poker face, right? I don’t think I’d wear a smiling Ramora mask. It would get creepy after a while.”

Did her teeth always look so sharp? Ramora is still smiling.

“ _I_ get creepy after a while.”

You frown, “You can’t smile _that_ often.”

Ramora’s grin finally fades enough to be just a wry tilt of her lips, “Perhaps not, dear, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Leaning in even closer, enough that Ramora’s own eyes widen in surprise, you fix her with a stern stare. One you’d used on many an aspiring adventurer with foolish ideas about what their lifestyle may be.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, you can’t smile _all the time,_ like a mask. Nobody does that.”

Eyes red and green merely blink at you coolly.

Oh, you realize. The conversation had gotten all metaphorical, hadn’t it? You should do something to ease the tension.

“I suppose not!” Ramora takes another drink – when had it been refilled? – and changes the subject rather abruptly, “But what about back home in Eorzea? Do you have someone waiting for you back there?”

Her voice has taken on a sober, less flighty quality, despite her drinking.

“Not any individual person, no. The Alliance and the remaining Scions await my return, however.”

Ramora gives you another _look,_ strange and suspicious, before continuing. “Then, you would not be averse to having some fun while you are here?”

She is suddenly quite close to your face, you can feel her breath on your cheek. You can see, all to clearly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, which have returned to their beguiling smile. It is altogether very pretty, and wholly mischievous.

“We could go hunting together,” She says quietly, mismatched eyes fixed on you, but somehow the word _hunting_ hangs in your head, along with those bright, vivid eyes, “For monsters. You wanted to lure them to bed, remember?”

Her voice sounds smooth, smooth like the sake had been going down, and you try to discreetly take a deep breath while keeping her gaze.

“Yes, so you could…” At last it dawns on you – you really had a talent for wording things, “So you could eat them up.”

Ramora’s red eye catches the room’s light, bright and orange, and almost looks like it’s shining, “I do love a good chase.”

Is it because your faces are close that your cheeks feel so hot? You’re not quite sure.

You nod in agreement, anyways, “It can be very exciting. And intense.”

An unpleasant memory returns to you. A man clad entirely in heavy armor, wielding a sword from these lands and cutting through your friends like they were nothing. A man who could defeat even you. For all your power, you had been helpless before him.  

“All the more for me now, with the prey I have in mind.”

“Oh?” Her interest is piqued, it seems, your lips quirk up.

“It’s no small foe that I must face,” Thinking back on it is almost enough to make you shudder. With fear, with excitement, you know not. “But the challenge placed before me is unlike anything I’ve seen before. I intend to meet it with all that I am.”

“Ah,” Ramora says, nodding ever so slightly to herself, looking a touch disappointed, “No doubt an enemy of the Alliance, I suppose? Off to kill more damnable imperials?”

“No!” You lean forward against the table immediately, slamming your hands down on either side, face set in a fierce determination as Ramora meets your gaze with surprise, “Killing has nothing to do with it! I want to win. I want to show this person who I am, what it means to cross me.”

She doesn’t back away from your fervent declarations, rather she straightens in her seat and rests her arms on the table a way from your own. Her vivid, beautiful eyes meeting your own with equal fire, her features narrowing in interest. Sharp and beautiful and deadly, like the rest of her.

“Is that so? Then,” Ramora moves forwards to rest her face on her hands, so that you must look down to the table to see her, even as she gazes up at you from the corners of her eyes, “What do you intend to do when you’ve lured the monster into your bed?”

“I mean to _dominate_ it.” You sit back down with a sigh, and reach for your glass again, finishing it off.

Ramora eyes you, her head still nearly level with the table. Laying in wait. “You prefer that role, do you?”

“I’ve always been able to take whatever life throws at me,” You flash her your most charming smile, “I can’t stop now. This is an insult to my pride as a hero, and I won’t stop until it’s amended.”

You win a chuckle from her at that, “Whatever life throws at you? Or whatever falls on you?”

“You didn’t fall on me,” You inform her studiously; Ramora only chuckles some more, “You fell and landed and then I plowed into you.”

Baring her teeth in a wicked grin, Ramora says, “You did do it quite hard. Hard and fast, is that how you like it?”

Oh! She meant sex, didn’t she? You considered for a moment – how _did_ you like it?

“Hard and fast is a good for a visceral, fun experience. It’s a pretty good way to go about things, but there’s a lot to be said for foreplay and buildup.” You say, crossing your arms as you do.

Ramora’s eyes glitter at you. “Oh, you do seem experienced at this. I did always prefer to chase, but being chased every once in a while can be so very fun.”

Still, you sit back, grabbing at your cup to take a drink. How strange, that it had been refilled already. Ramora leans back, too, gazing at you intently all the while.

“I don’t actually chase monsters that often. Usually they stand and fight.”

Brows raised quizzically, Ramora quips, “Are we still talking about sex?”

You pause and think for a moment. Now would probably be a good time to ask, before you made any dangerous assumptions.

“At which point exactly did the sex metaphors start for you?” You ask, laying your arms on the table so you can rest your chin on your hands, “I just started when you said ‘hard and fast’, but-”

“What?!” For the first time since you met her, Ramora seems legitimately shocked. “You – you said the word _dominate!_ And then you were all – ‘they prey I have in mind’ – and, and you said ‘so you could eat them up’! And – just who uses the word _dominate_ in that context without meaning sex!?”

Well, _that_ was an easy question to answer, “I do.”

Ramora sucks in a deep breath, “You – you! I demand a _refund_ on that conversation! I had – I had no idea what you were really saying! It wasn’t going at all the way I thought. Do it again, but with feeling!”

You try to think back to what you had been saying. “Hmmm….”

Across from you, Ramora huffs and sits down, crossing her arms hard. She downs her entire cup in one drink, which doesn’t surprise you as much as it had before.

“So you could eat them up.”

Ramora looks at you for a moment, then her eyes widen in realization.

Helpfully, you add, “I mean that sexually.”

Laughter bursts out from her, uncontrolled, such that other patrons actually seem to look across the room at you, but neither you nor Ramora pay them much mind. You can’t help a smile creeping up your face, over your features until your whole face feels light.

That might be the sake, actually. Still, in the few minutes it takes for Ramora to stop laughing, you take a sip and then another. It _was_ rather sweet, wasn’t it?

“I do love a good chase!” Ramora is almost breathless as she says it, grinning at you all the while.

You continue with your part, “It can be very – sexually – exciting. And intense.”

“Sexually intense?” Ramora teases.

You nod. “Absolutely.”

Pausing and thinking back, you remember.

“The prey I was thinking of actually is an imperial,” Ramora visibly deflates at your words, so you decide to quickly revert your subject, “And I do intend to dominate him, but not the way I would-”

“Not sexually?”

You purse your lips and slide them to the side, “Are you making fun of me?”

Ramora is absolutely making fun of you, but you figure if you act oblivious about it she’ll feel a little worse.

She catches on to you, though, and lays out another short chuckle, “So cute! Darling, I’m only teasing. Tell me more about this imperial you want to dominate – but not sexually.”

“I wanted to talk about you,” You say seriously. “I thought the conversation was supposed to be flirting, only I hadn’t been and that’s why you wanted to do it over again?”

“Heh.” Ramora is letting out chuckles, slowly, as though with reluctance, but also a great deal of satisfaction. “Well then. Heh. Heheh. Heh.”

You snort out a laugh and Ramora finally speaks, “Yes, well. Since you insist.” Her green eye catches the light, bright under dark lashes, “Let the flirting proceed.”

“As I was saying, my desire to dominate my enemy is entirely different from any sentiments I may or may not possess towards any potential lovers.”

Ramora’s lips draw together in a pout, “This is flirtation, my dear. Not an _interrogation._ ”

You take a sip. “Acknowledged. Anyways, between my enemies and my allies who constantly look to me for support, I actually, well..”

Suddenly her eyes looked just a bit sharper, her hair just a bit darker on her grey-blue skin, her gaze just a little more intense.

Licking your lips, you continue, though your eyes are drawn to the table, to your nearly empty cup by your hands, “I, ah. Spend a lot of time in a… role of leadership.”

“And?” You nearly jump – Ramora’s voice is a bit louder now. Because she is closer. You don’t look up.

“Dominance, sexual and… otherwise…” When did it get so hot in here? “Is something I have to… deal with, very often.”

“What else, darling?” Ramora says, in that voice smooth and sweet like the finest of syrups. You want to eat it up.

(Gods, will you ever stop doing that?)

Telling people what you want doesn’t come naturally to you, after all this time. But you feel warm, and Ramora’s heavy gaze on you feels like it is squeezing out the truth, your words begin leaving your mouth without your permission.

“I think I might… prefer, sometimes… to take a less…” Had your face always been so hot? You don’t know if you’ve drank too much or not, but your cheeks are most certainly flushed, “Active role in… ah… the intercourse.”

When she breaks into giggles above you, your gaze is finally torn from the table, and up towards Ramora.

“ _The intercourse.”_ Ramora is clutching at her stomach as she cackles away, and you can’t help but bang your head against the table. “Oh, darling, be careful!”

Ramora is at your side in a moment, which just makes you feel all the hotter.

(Who taught you to speak like this? Who taught you _to speak?_ )

“You look a bit flushed.” Ramora asks, and her lovely voice is colored entirely with concern.

“I don’t… normally drink so much.”

Can you just. Stop talking. Right now. You glance at Ramora again, and in an instant you remember how pretty she is. Who told you you could talk to someone this pretty? You’d gone and messed it up.

“If you didn’t drink you could have just said something.” What’s she scolding _you_ for? For every cup you’d finished she’d probably had at least two.

You glare at her helplessly, as she sets aside what remained of your drink. Ramora only raises an incredulous brow at your toothless ire, resting a hand on the table as she waited for your response.

It’s enough to make you look away. At least with your cheeks flushed from the alcohol she won’t notice your embarrassment –

“Heh. Why _didn’t_ you say anything, darling.”

Never mind. She noticed. Your bury your head in your arms, crossed on the table, and mumble out, “You looked so excited. I just wanted to go along with it. Then we started talking and I just… lost track, I guess…”

In an instant you shoot up, sitting straight and meeting her eyes with earnest fervor, “And! The sake is really strong! Stronger than I’d thought it would be!”

At the sound of her heartfelt chuckle you lay your head on your arms again with a sigh.

“I was excited to _talk to you_ , dear,” Ramora’s voice is warm and sweet, pouring over you like sake. Except the sake had gone down your throat, which also worked as an analogy-

“Really, you could have drank juice and I would have been happy. Just meeting you has been a pleasure,” You can’t stop yourself from blushing at that, from the satisfied face Ramora makes you must be red to the very tips of your ears, “I wouldn’t have thought twice if you’d said you didn’t want any alcohol.”

You let out a long, low, and terribly unheroic whine. “You’re being awfully nice to some idiot who ran into you then got drunk in the middle of the day without meaning to.”

“No dice, dear – leave the self-detracting humor to _me,_ all right? I guarantee you I have a lot more material.” Ramora’s wry smile and reassuring tone do surprisingly little for you.

Thinking back on everything – well, maybe Ramora had _more_ problems, but compared to having to save the world all the time, you had her on size.

(You just. You’re such a disaster. Can you say _anything_ right?)

Smirking at her, you retort, “Quality over quantity. I’m a _professional_ failure.”

“Ha! A challenger appears, hm?” Ramora gives you that smile that bares her teeth, “Try again when you’re sober, wouldn’t want you to miss getting _dominated_ in that particular contest.”

She continues speaking after that, but you can’t quite pay attentions when the thought pops into your mind without prompting, “Juice would be nice.”

“-and I even – wait, what?”

You nod at her in perfect seriousness, which you can tell bemuses her because you really are quite drunk, “Blackberry.”

Ramora blinks at you, “Blackberry juice? Is that – is that a thing? I don’t know if they even grow here.”

You nod again, “They don’t. But you’re here!”

“That I am.” Ramora says, rolling her eyes ever so lightly, “You are _some_ drunk, you know that?”

“You’re blackberry flavored. I would say blueberry, but I don’t like blueberries.” You tell her, matter of fact, as though it made perfect sense for you to be discussing.

And it did make perfect sense, because Ramora gives you a sweet and silly smile, one that warms her face and goes all the way to her eyes.

“I shall make note of it for the future, darling. For now, perhaps you should just drink some water, maybe get some food in you.”

That was a waste of time. “I wouldn’t bother. Might throw it up.”

Now Ramora is frowning. She didn’t like that answer? You try to remember that, so you know to lie next time, but you concede to yourself that you probably won’t recall it if you ever have to. Gods, you’d messed this up.

You hit your head on the table again, barely hearing Ramora’s protest, barely feeling her hands on your shoulders. You really had gotten drunk like an idiot, hadn’t you? Some Warrior of Light.

After some time – you’re not sure how long – Ramora yanks you up to sitting and moves your face to look at her. It’s hot.

In the room. In the room, it’s hot. You feel very hot. Your cheeks feel hot.

Also Ramora is hot.

“Someone needs to get some rest.” Ramora’s voice says from beside you.

“Rest?!” Even you wince at how loud that came out, but still, “It’s the, it’s the, middle of the day! I have things to do!”

Ramora eyes you suspiciously and you immediately regret speaking. “I thought you had time?”

You swallow thickly, and the moment Ramora sees you do it she lifts some water to your mouth, staring expectantly. Feeling completely outmaneuvered, you drink.

“Not to sleep.” You mumble in protest, like an idiot.

It takes you a few moments, even when Ramora begins talking, to realize that phrase doesn’t quite strengthen your case.

“Oh, my. I suppose you shall simply need to make time.” Her voice sounds inexplicably satisfied and that’s enough to raise your ire despite your tiredness.

“Time to sleep? In the middle of the day?” However you cross your arms and try to act condescending, it has no effect on her at all.

Of course it doesn’t. You’re drunk.

Ramora merely lifts your arm to fit around her shoulders, putting an arm around your waist as she pulls you to stand. You follow her all to eagerly, stepping away from her abruptly. You promptly stumble, and grab the table to steady yourself.

It really is just vertigo from standing up after a while. You’re not stupid enough to think you can walk this off, but you’re not about to sleep in the middle of the day because of it either. It was too early to call it a night, but too late for it to just be a nap. And you didn’t have time to take naps, either! You’d visit a healer or use a spell yourself, drink some more water, get some food in you, and move on.

“As I said, I cannot. Th-”

Whatever you have to say is lost to the ages as Ramora D’aubigne takes it out of your hands and into her arms. Quite literally. You find yourself being carried, bridal style no less, by the woman you had intended to rescue from certain death only an hour or so earlier.

You blink at her, and then again.

“I’m taking you to my room at the Bokairo Inn,” Ramora says, looking down at you, carefully cradling your head with her hand as she moved, jumping over the banister and foregoing the stairs. “It’s quite nice, you’ll like it. Don’t worry about me, they have extra… futons, they’re called? You’ll be fine, I can take a guest.”

You blink slowly. Ramora tilts her head down at you. “Is the blinking supposed to communicate something? Because I don’t understand it.”

If you tell her you’re okay, she won’t believe you. If you tell her you don’t want to go to her room, she’ll deny you. If you get up and leave – you… are remarkably tired.

Not just from the alcohol, which, in your defense, had been stronger than you realized. And you’d drank more than you realized. Since being… _defeated,_ you hadn’t been… doing so well. You’d needed to fight during your journey to Othard, you’d needed to fight all your way through the Ruby Sea, past the Kojin, all alone, and now you faced the prospect of fighting this new primal alone, as well.

You hadn’t slept for any great length of time in ages, you had no idea how you were going to become strong enough to face all the challenges before you and that sake had _really been strong._ It wasn’t an excuse. It wasn’t!

“…Why are you carrying me.”

Ramora snorts, “Are you about to tell me you can walk on your own? I think we both know the answer to that, darling.”

“I have a name.”

“Darling.”

“Name.”

“ _Dar_ ling.”

“Naaaaaame!”

“ _Daaaaarling!”_

You squint up at Ramora. “Did you… forget it?”

Haha! Now she’s blushing, too! Not a red or pink but a dark purple; still plain to see on her skin. It’s so pretty!

“You said it only once, and very quickly, mind you! I was distracted.” Ramora won’t stop avoiding your eyes.

Somehow, you just can’t help but laugh.

“You’re taking a woman you just met to your room at the inn when you don’t even know her name? So forward!” You tease.

Ramora fixes you with an even stare, “I would not take advantage of you… darling.”

“You still don’t remember my name.” You sigh deeply, “And before you start thinking that’s okay, because you think I’ve forgotten yours – _Ramora._ ”

She does wince at that. “You only introduced yourself once. I told you my name twice!”

“Ramora _darling._ Call me by my name, _Raaaamoraaaa._ ”

“Has anyone told you that you are a terrible tease? I look forward to _dominating_ you, thoroughly, like you secretly desire.” Ramora gives you a feral grin that makes your whole body shudder, at the sound of your embarrassed whine.

“Dominating who, _Ramora?_ Who are you going to dominate?” You’re sure she’ll win this fight, she’s sober and you’re not, but you didn’t feel like backing down.

“You, _darling!_ ” She says it with a laugh, looking down at you amused. Her hair hanging in front of her face.

“Who’s your darling?” You prod.

Ramora chuckles, “You are.”

You moan in exasperation, closing your eyes as Ramora adjusts her hold on you. In your defense, you were drunk enough to think she wouldn’t find something to say other than your name.

“I thought you weren’t going to take advantage of me.” You whine as you finally get to the Inn.

You hear Ramora _tsk_ right by your ear, “Not as you are now, dear. I want you wide awake and completely lucid for every second of _that,_ trust me.”

As you get to the room you’re struck with a sudden pang of nervousness. “I- I don’t want to- I don’t want to impose, or be-”

“It’s nothing, dear. Really, I got you drunk in the first place, I’m not about to hang you out to dry. Overthrowing Garlemald – you look like a strong breeze would knock you over!”

That’s not fair, you think to yourself. You’d like to see _her_ fight Garuda. They were _very_ strong breezes.

“Breezes can be strong.” You say, instead of anything comprehensible.

“I’m sure they can! You can tell me all about it when you wake up tomorrow.” Ramora says conversationally, as though you had asked to stay over yourself and she was happily obliging.

“Things. I have things to do! Things!”

All you get out of her for that is a noncommittal hum as she passes the innkeep and gives him a friendly smile. No one asks Ramora what she’s doing with you in her arms – they’ve probably seen a few drunks in their time. “You do indeed. Hopefully, I’m one of them! But it all can wait until you’re not talking nonsense.”

“I always talk nonsense! That’s why I don’t _talk!_ ”

Ramora pauses in her steps for a moment, looking down at you with some strange emotion on her face. “Well, talk some more nonsense to me tomorrow, darling. Or not – there’s other ways to have fun, and I’d be quite excited to explore them with you.”

You make a noise of confusion. “I don’t explore. I’m an adventurer. I have to save people.”

“Exploring is part of the adventure! Fret not, the world can make it on its own for a day or two, I’m sure.”

She means it when she says it, you’re sure, but it only reminds you of how the world… kind of _can’t_ make it on its own, a lot of the time. How a lot of people needed you. How it wasn’t really an adventure anymore...

“I don’t- I don’t need you to, to do this. I can go back, to Eorzea.”

Ramora laughs, “Take an Aetheryte? That’s quite a trip for what – you want to visit a healer?”

You nod, and don’t say anything, because at this point you realize your speaking skills are… lacking.

“Not only do they have better things to do than take care of drunks, any healer worth their salt would be doing the same thing I’m doing right now.” Her eyes sparkle in that devious, smug way that you can’t help but find terribly charming. “Considering I _am_ one, it does make sense.”

Did it make sense? She said a healer would do what she was doing, and she would know because she’s a healer. If she is a healer, that does make sense, but it also makes sense if she isn’t a healer, because then she wouldn’t know what a healer did in the first place, so she could think _anything_ would be what a real healer did. Would do.

“I will be in the room next door if you need anything.”

You stare up at her from the soft, downy mattress she gently lowers you onto. It’s so soft you almost moan at the feeling of it, your form sinking into the material with ease. Feeling completely disarmed, your breath escapes you entirely, and you breathe in deeply again to regain yourself.

“I’m…” You can’t really remember what you wanted to say, but you know there is something, so you look up helplessly at the beautiful woman who had put you to bed.

(One day, you’ll stop saying things like this. Maybe. Maybe you’ll stop saying things like this)

Ramora only smiles down at you, fondly. “Just call if you need me. I can hear you from the other room, and the Twelve know you remember _my_ name.”

This must be a suite, you think as you hear a sliding door open and Ramora disappears from your sight.

Then you close your eyes, and fall, fall, fall asleep.

Oh, that’s right.

You wanted to tell her your name.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes found at the end of the Word Doc:
> 
> I live for poking fun at those stupid Shonen “dude falls on a girl and grabs her breast” tropes. I’ll die before I write one into a story, especially if the guy was legitimately saving the girl and the girl gets actually pissed off about it, and roll over in my grave before I let the girl start outright attacking him for it. 
> 
> I’m also a dumb person who needs to stop using the phrase ‘still smiling’ but I WON’T. LET THEM SMILE, LET THEM KEEP SMILING. SMILES FOREVER, SMILES ON YOUR SOULS –  
> …okay that got creepy. 
> 
> Ram is wearing the Ruby Tide bathing suit outfit, that’s her uniform and you can’t convince me otherwise
> 
> Can I write a fic without waxing poetic about someone’s appearance? Probably, but why would I bother?
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys all liked this - there's a lot of my personal headcanons and the like that I included in this fic, especially concerning the WoL and what actually goes on with their parties and adventurer friends. Feel free to tell me your about your own headcanons and that sort of thing, or if there's some interactions you'd like to see with Ramora in future chapters! I'm using my own OC for most of this, but if you want a more ambiguous experience, let me know and I can probably work that in somewhere :)


	2. A Smile

When Ram first meets you, she is thoroughly enchanted.

It’s slow, though, the spell you wove, she’d give you that much. You were indeed a formidable foe, Ram mused to herself, gazing languidly at the door across the room.

If she hadn’t seen real, living fairies summoned by Scholars, Ram would have guessed you were a fairy yourself. Svelte and tall, glowing with an inner light even in the middle of the day, you moved with the natural grace of a warrior she could not help but recognize. It was easy to tell that you were also a Duskwight; however pale your skin may be, you have the unmistakable cool pallor of one not taken to spending time in the sun.

Your hair was not quite short, falling in a ponytail that seemed to hover over your shoulder, just at kinky pulling length. Pale and pink and, she was certain, just as soft and smooth as it looked. And your _eyes!_ They sparkled blue like a crystal. _You_ sparkled. Everything about you was light, was bright. And your face!

It should be illegal to be so pretty, Ram thinks to herself as she lounges back. So youthful and stoic all at once, fresh with energy and solid with determination at the same time. All the things you could say with a straight face, pretty like porcelain but somehow filled with life. Toppling Garlemald, using her smiling face as a mask – Ram had stared at the door to your room for a good while before sleeping last night – discussing preferred ways of having sex, telling her _all that flirting you did with her_ was just you talking about some imperial loser, and protesting that the sake was strong – which it was _not._

Heh. You had been such a good sport about it, though. Tipsy, but probably not completely drunk. The type to try and keep on working despite your obvious unfitness. You’d sounded so unsettled when she brought you here she really had worried for a moment that she should bring you back to wherever you had been staying. But Eorzea? You were drunk indeed. Cute little lightweight. 

You’re not innocent, not quite. But there’s a disarming honesty to all your words, a charming openness on your nearly blank face. As though it did not occur to you at all that false kindness might be expected of you, as though you had never even considered the idea of faking a reaction to placate others. You kept your face blank and moved on, a frank display to all that you either had no emotions, or no wish to disclose them.

And then you spoke and flirted with her with that stoic countenance – how could you expect her not to want to make you smile? Ram knows it will look beautiful. You will look beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking.

And blackberries! Now you’d gone and made her want blackberries and they didn’t even grow on this continent! Her gaze drifts lazily towards the bowl of fruits she had delivered this morning. No rolanberries, either. Only exotic Eastern fruits. Well, Ram reaches over and grabs one in a hand, they couldn’t be called exotic here, could they?

She wonders idly if you would like any of these, tossing the fruit up and down in hand. That is, after all, the reason she called for them. Personally, she finds the plums absolutely delectable.

And _oh,_ is she starving. Ram looks over to the door connected to your room again and is pleased to see a light coming from beneath it.

“Awake, are we, darling?” She calls out, getting up as she speaks, putting the fruit back into the bowl and picking it up to bring with her.

 

 

You awake a while before you get out of bed. Somehow, you find it in yourself to just… lie there.

Of course, you hadn’t been anywhere near drunk enough to not remember what happened last night. In hindsight it had not been so terribly embarrassing… at least, it would have not been so, had you not been carried out away in someone’s arms like an invalid. And said a number of stupid things. And discovered that Ramora literally did not remember your name.

A sigh and a deep breath, and you manage to pull yourself up and out of bed. Lucky for you your inventory includes a change of clothes; you pull them out to change into when you hear Ramora calling from the other room. Asking if you are awake.

“No,” You say, just to see what would happen.

There’s a snort from the other room. “I see. Shall I bring the sleeping beauty some clothes, hm? I have some things that should fit, if you like.”

You hear her get up and you’re immediately wakened; you’d really rather not she walk in on you while you get dressed…

“Ah, that isn’t necessary. I’m getting dressed right now. Please don’t come in. It doesn’t look as sexy as everyone pretends it does, I swear.” You really _didn’t_ look that sexy, gangly limbs bent and body contorted to get through the various pieces of armor and padding you had to put on.

“Hmmm. You know, I don’t think I believe that.” Somehow, Ramora’s denial doesn’t surprise you in the slightest.

You’re just about to yank your top over your head, just to cobble together something resembling decency, when Ramora continues, “But if you insist, darling, I’ll stay right where I am. Waiting for you with bated breath. Don’t take too long, please. The _anticipation_ is killing me.”

Did she… did she have to say it like _that?_

Ah! You’d almost forgotten. Quickly, before it happened again, you pulled from your inventory the pair of heels you’d been thinking of the other day. They were at least four ilms, and with good posture it would be enough to stand above her. Hopefully she wore thin sandals.

Hopefully you do not make a fool of yourself and trip, or something. Now _that_ would be an embarrassment.

Quickly, you dress yourself. You don’t expect Ramora will change her mind, of course, but time waits for no one, and you were quite behind on your obligations.

 

 

When you call out to tell Ramora that she may enter, the door slides open quickly, as though she had been waiting just outside.

Had she been? You’re not entirely sure. It isn’t clear, but you don’t intend to dwell on it. There is a charming lady in your room, and she has come to kneel before you.

Kneel?

“I believe I am overdue for a re-introduction?” Ramora smiles at you, taking your hand in hers and lifting the back of your palm to her lips. She kisses it, feather-light, while still keeping eye contact with you, “At your service…?”

Her hand is warm on yours. Gentle. Feather-light, until you realize the thick, sticky substance left on your skin, the mark of her lipstick dark against your pale hand.

“Why, you!” Scoffing, you lean in quickly and bring your hand up to her cheek, smearing the lipstick all over her stupid pretty face.

Her laugh feels just as warm against your hand as it sounds to your ears. You add an extra rub, just for good measure, but Ramora backs away, staggering dramatically as she falls backwards.

“I extend the hand of friendship, and you have betrayed me,” Ramora clutches at her face as though it burned, stumbling to her knee as she gazed up at you with sparkling eyes.

You scoff good-naturedly at her, rising to the bait. “That’s what you get for trusting someone who knocks you over on the street and makes you carry her to your room and sleep in your bed. Are you really so surprised?”

With your stony features and haughty tone, you daresay you make for an imposing villain. Mayhap even better than some of the _idiots_ who’d tried to kill you, although that wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to do.

“If that’s how it must be, then I truly have only myself to blame…” She crouches down, bowing her head and curling in on herself after delivering her line. “At least let me know my killer’s name, then.”

“Hm, if you wish…” You take a step forward, and reach your hand out to her face.

Ramora lifts her head just in time to see you flick her forehead. “Denied.”

“Oh, come on. Darling, please!” Ramora sounds earnest in her pleading, but her bright eyes belie her amusement and she says it with a smile.

She’d waited long enough, you supposed. “Sira. Try not to forget it, this time.”

“Siiiiraaa.”

You roll your eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Oh but _Sira,_ darling, I’ve only just remembered.”

“You didn’t remember anything. I told you!”

“That _is_ usually how you introduce yourself to someone, yes.”

And now Ramora is teasing you. What a turnaround. You suppose it’s fun, but she had better not be expecting you to stop here.

“Usually when you introduce yourself to someone,” You drawl, even though you are a stoic warrior who has never drawled anything in your life. It comes out as sort of a growl, but your voice is a bit high to be a sexy growl, so it just sounds weird, “They remember your name.”

(Who taught you to talk like this. Have you ever flirted in your life.)

“I’m not such a traditional person, darling.” Ramora’s eyes gleam at you, “What’s your excuse?”

Without thinking, you go along with the conversation. “I don’t remember. Will you take my word that it’s a good one, though?”

Something about the woman across from you just has you… relaxed, unwound. She smells nice, like fruit. Sweet and inviting. Smiling, pleased, dressed in casual clothing you did not often see in your travels outdoors and among nobility. No matter what you say to her, no matter how your words come out, blunt or merely unusual, Ramora smiles at you still. Not in the least unsettled.

No, you didn’t think this beautiful, composed lady could even _be_ unsettled. Her response comes quickly and easily.

“Quite the promise to make for something you don’t know. But, as you wish, darling.” Ramora tilts her head to the side, her smile welcoming in the indoor lantern’s light. “I’ll take your word for it. You can’t control having been raised by wolves.”

“Lions, actually.”

“Oh? My next guess was going to be Lominsans.”

“That would make sense, wouldn’t it?” You smile wryly at her. “I really don’t know. It doesn’t matter much to me, though. What’s important is what’s happening right now, in front of me.”

By the time you’re finished speaking your smile has faded into an open, earnest expression. You do not want to pry. You saw her neck and thought nothing of it; everyone you had met so far had some tale of their woes. It was sad to be reminded that this woman you’d met was one of them, had her own tale. It’s not a story you want to hear, not a story you want her to have to tell. Why bother with something that’s gone now, when you and she are here right now in front of each other?

It’s better, you think, to have no memories than bad ones. Considering how few the years have been since the last Calamity, it is never hard to find a sad story. Whatever your past had been, you cannot bring yourself to care about it.

“I _do_ quite like what’s in front of me, I must admit.” Ramora says in that sultry voice and you can’t help but look her over again, anywhere but at her eyes.

Or her breasts, bursting lusciously from the neckline that plunged well below them. Or her hips, wide and flowing into long, toned calves. Or her fingertips hanging beside them, delicately painted and beautifully dark against her skin.

Or _her,_ you guess, because you’ve apparently just recently become very bad at not ogling beautiful women. You only feel a little guilty – Ramora can certainly _tell,_ you expect, she’s definitely received this kind of attention before, and if she did not like it you’d like to think you could pick up on any subtle cues. Or, you expect, she’d just say so outright.

(You don’t notice Ram is doing the same to you, because by the Gods for all your perceptiveness you are _so dense_ when it comes to how other people see you.)

The room is warmly lit, orange lamps of Kugane make hanging all over. It’s warm in here, too.

And quiet. When you look back up you see on Ramora’s face that she is examining you closely. Studying you. As if…

“Darling – Sira. Have you… grown, overnight?”

Oh. From the angle she’s at, she cannot see your heels; there’s a table blocking her view. When she steps forward you move over, in order to keep it that way.

“No. You’ve always been this short.” You say, to hilarious effect.

Ramora looks legitimately dumbfounded. Not insulted, quite, but you daresay this is the first time in her entire life she’s heard someone call her short.

Her eyes go up and down your form, and you can see the shock in her grow as she realizes you stand higher than she does. It’s a feeling that warms your heart unexpectedly. Boosts your ego. Until recently, you hadn’t thought such a thing possible, but after your… humbling experience at the Reach it’s unbearably heartening to see someone looking up at you like you’re some kind of imposing statue.

(Ram is thinking to herself that she can’t believe she missed how tall you were, what a terribly pretty blue your eyes were. You’d looked good when she was kneeling. Yes, she is very much enjoying this angle.)

“Did you… want something to eat?” Her voice fills the room, sounding strange.

You’re pleased to have flabbergasted her such that Ramora is changing the subject.

Coincidentally, you’re also hungry. You don’t want to be rude, though, considering she’s already taken you into her room at the inn; you could tell as soon as you woke this was no discount suite. She _had_ said she was on vacation.

“I don’t wish to impose,” You say, and when you see immediate protest on her face you continue, “I would much appreciate the chance to treat you, if you like. You did me a favor yesterday, and I would enjoy repaying it.”

And suddenly any confusion from her is gone. Replacing it is a smug look, a cute curve to her lips that shouldn’t look anywhere near as endearing as it does. “Enjoy it, would you?”

Something in her tone tells you this is a trap but of course you go along with it anyway. You’ve always been weak to pretty faces, pretty voices. What were you supposed to do, when she said it to you like that?

“I would, yes.” You say.

Her lips, it strikes you, are as red as her eye. It’s a strange match that has her green eye darkening in the shadows as the coloring on her lips is bright against her skin. Confused one moment, and wily the next.

“Then,” She gestures, reaching over to a bowl on the table, “Have a snack at least.”

Ramora reaches out to offer a hand. Her palm is darker, nearly purple in this lighting, her fingers long and slender as she gestures for you to take it.

You do, of course, and then you have to move around the table to follow her into the other room. Ramora picks up a bowl of what looks like fruit from the table, but you don’t recognize any of it.

“It’s not blackberries,” Ramora says with a smile that takes you completely by surprise, shy sincerity shocking you to the core, “But I thought it was quite good; do try some, Sira.”

Her use of your name almost stops your heart in your chest. Hearing it in that light, familiar tone – you didn’t get that often, and even when you did, it wasn’t so… friendly? Affectionate? Familiar?

You aren’t sure you know how to deal with this. Where had that seductress gone, and who was this charming lady who offered you exotic fruits with that heartfelt smile and innocent eyes?

Innocent! Those lips! You’d perish the thought, even after knowing her for just a day, but one look between the fruit in her hand and the tentative kindness on her face sends warmth all through your chest.

“What… is it?” You ask, eyeing the fruit in her hand.

Now Ramora is looking at you oddly, almost concerned. “It’s just a plum. A Doman one. I don’t mean to push it on you, of course, you don’t have to-”

As soon as the insecurity became plain in her tone you took the plum with a grateful smile. You do not believe for a moment that Ramora would give you something poisoned – if she wanted to do something to you, she would have done it while you _slept_ in her room, vulnerable and (to her knowledge) defenseless – but that did not erase old habits.

“I only meant to ask what it was. I did not think you would give me poison. I am sure this will not kill me,” You tell her seriously, “So don’t feel like you made me take it. I wanted to take it.”

Ramora blinks. “Is that your way of saying ‘thank you’?”

Immediately she winces at her own statement, but the flicker of embarrassment goes right over your head.

Actually, yes. It would make a lot of sense to thank her, since she gave you something. You take a bite from the plum – it’s terribly sweet, fruity and acidic in your mouth, an absolute delight – and consider your options.

You could get her food, like you offered. But she didn’t seem to excited about that. Ramora probably didn’t need you to kill anyone. Neither did she look like the type to need political favors.

Ram watches on, slightly concerned. You’re eating the plum, which is a good start, but you don’t look like you’re really enjoying it.

Putting the pit down on the table, you think about what you do know about Ramora. She is here on vacation. She can fall from great heights. She seems to be no stranger to the life of an adventurer. It’s obvious she’s well off, healthy, in no immediate danger. With her charming attitude and flirty disposition, you were sure she didn’t want for company.

Not that such a thing was your strong suit anyways. What a bother.

“I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything to give you,” You say honestly, schooling your face into an appropriately apologetic expression. “If you want someone ki-”

“What do you _mean,_ give me?” Ramora sounds equal parts offended and saddened in her interruption, “Darling. I’m not doing any of this because I want something from-”

She pauses.

“Kill…someone?” Ram looks at you, quirking a brow.

Really? Well, you’d offered. You weren’t about to judge. “Sure. If you want multiple people who are all associated with each other, that’s fine, too. Who is it?”

Ramora stares.

You stare.

She stares back, examining your face. Holding her gaze is easy; you wait patiently for her orders. It’s nice that there was something you could do, after all.

“Darling. I really can’t tell if you’re serious or not-”

For once, your better judgement prevails and you do not interrupt her to say ‘I’m always serious’. A claim like that was bound to fail.

“-but in any case, I’m not,” She frowns, bright lips twisting on her face, “It isn’t like… I don’t want you to do anything to thank me.”

You tilt your head. “You thought I was saying ‘thank you’, though. How else should I do it?”

The scoffed laugh that comes from her is so sudden you almost jump at it. Ramora lifts a hand to her face as she snorts, and when she drops it all her concern and displeasure has melted away.

“You could try _saying the words,_ ” It’s clear Ramora is talking a bit to fast, she looks like she tried to stop herself from saying it. “But! You don’t have to. I’m just – I just-”

“Thank you.” You say robotically, and frown.

Ram’s lips twist and twist. She bites the inside of her cheek. She would really rather have you eating grapes out of her palm right now. What’s the hold up? “Darling?”

“It doesn’t feel effective,” You explain, “I don’t feel like I’ve thanked you well enough. You have been very kind to me.”

“I told you darling, I wasn’t doing it for thanks.” Ram would _absolutely_ rather be feeding you grapes by hand. Since when did she like people who were so concerned with politeness?

Hm. That’s not quite right, is it? You don’t seem concerned with _politeness,_ exactly. You appear entirely sincere.

Gives a whole new meaning to your offer to kill someone earlier, but Ram steadfastly resolves not to think about it. For a number of reasons.

When you tilt your head cutely at her Ram’s heart nearly jumps out of her chest. What _was_ that adorable worried expression? Were you biting your lip? ‘Please darling, don’t hurt yourself, use mine,’ she wants to say.

“But I don’t _feel_ like you know how thankful I am. Just saying those words doesn’t do anything.”

“I don’t care.” Ram tells you, feeling her face warm up. “You don’t need to say the words. I wanted to help you out, you know.”

You step towards her and gesture with a hand on your chest, “And _I_ want to show you that I’m thankful. Words won’t convey that. I want to do something that will make you happy.”

Oh, she is certain she is blushing now. Your straightforward manner and intense stare. Goodness.

She’d taken you back last night in the hopes of spending more time in your company. Seducing you, perhaps, as it appeared your tastes ran that way. She’d not expected to be… to be _courted._ To have a chivalric lady sweep her off her feet and make such charming promises and requests. Ram almost wishes she had one of those fans…

“Ramora?”

Ah, this was no good. She couldn’t just stand here and let you charm her panties off.

“If it should please you, then,” Ram tells your innocuous face, wetting her lips and watching your eyes follow her tongue, “I would be _very_ happy to feed you.”

Hngh. You tilt your head again, in the other direction; she can barely take it. You’re looking at her with such a refreshing expression. So eager to please, and so worried about how to do it. She snatches a glass of some juice – not blackberry, why couldn’t she stop thinking about that? – and takes a swig.

Your confusion is plain, brows furrowed as you ask, “Feed… me?”

Ram counts herself successful in having blown your mind. Served you right. Had you _grown_ overnight? Ramora still can’t quite tell.

“Yes.” She says, nodding and making eye contact, “It would make me quite happy, darling. If you’re amenable.”

Only a moment passes before Ram resolves to simply tell you it’s all right, try to steer things in a different direction – perhaps that wasn’t your sort of thing, anyways. What she doesn’t realize is what’s going through _your_ head.

Regardless how strange a thing it seemed, it’s plain to see that Ramora does indeed want to… feed you. In fact, she looks quite happy, excited even by the suggestion. You’re not sure why she is happy about it, but if it makes her happy, you don’t mind.

It was a good day, when all it took to make someone happy was something so… simple. Mundane. You eye the bowl – delicious. Ramora’s expectant face seals the deal for you; you have no reason to deny her, anyways.

“As you wish.” You say, nodding. Out of habit, mostly.

“Well then!” Ramora brightens, her hesitance washed away as though it had never been there. She is still eager though, swaying to the side as she picked up another fruit and holds it to your mouth.

Looking at the fruit, then back to Ramora, then back to the fruit, then back to her… She’s grinning at you again. Only a tiny bit wicked.

“Try another!” She nudges forward, quite close to your lips. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

You look at her hand, and then at her, then back again.

Seeing your hesitance, Ram withdraws her hand suddenly, and puts her other hand on your arm to guide you to the couch. “Ah, yes, this should be _much_ more comfortable.”

Without thinking, you follow the gentle tug until you are seated. Internally, Ram is feeling terrifically pleased to have finally gotten things on track. You’ll be eating out of her hands in no time.

When you see the look on her face you cannot help but wonder just what it is she wants. At least she looks happy?

Once more she lifts the plum to your lips. You rest your hands carefully in your lap and open your mouth obediently, while Ramora guides it in. The first bite is a bit off, but none the less sweet.

You don’t have time to wipe the juice from your lips. Ramora swipes it away with her thumb, and you see her lift that same thumb to her mouth, letting out an exaggerated lick. The moment she sees you watching she twists her tongue around it, then brings it into her mouth to suck on, even throwing in a hum of approval that sounded much like a moan.

Just how long was her tongue? Were tongues normally that long? You can’t tell, you don’t see a lot of tongues.

It certainly _looks_ long, especially considering the size of her hands, her slender fingers. Even through it all she maintains eye contact; even with her mouth on her thumb you can _hear_ her smiling. You look away first.

“Ahah, I’m only teasing darling! Come on, have another.” Ramora’s voice is too bright, too sincere.

Sweeter even than the fruit she offered, the smell still fresh in your senses. You look back and find her holding it out again.

Eyeing her from the corner of your gaze, you open your mouth again, this time tilting your chin up just a bit to perhaps keep juice from falling over you. This time isn’t so messy, but Ramora’s pleased manner does not dampen in the slightest.

“How is it? Good?” Ramora sounds so invested, excited to hear the answer.

You feel your heart melting. Warmth in your chest, heat on your cheeks. A smile threatening to burst through. Your hand that she’d held feels very warm.

“Yes. Very good.” You say, meeting her gaze with uncertainty that you immediately realize is not necessary.

Ramora’s smile shouldn’t look so warm, shouldn’t look so inviting with such a stark, bright red. Your heart shouldn’t feel so full just from a few bites of food, just from a few morsels of kindness; but that isn’t how a heart works. There is, after all, no feeling better in this world than having someone be nice to you.

“Thank you,” You repeat lowly, because you feel you must say something or else your chest will burst.

That clearly isn’t a concern for Ramora, who only finishes the last bite herself, flashing you a grin, and immediately offers another, “Try this one. It’s a little sour, but I quite liked it.”

You do, of course. Her fingers are starting to look even more appetizing than the fruit; long and slender. Still, her hands are proportionate to her body, large enough to easily cover almost half your face.

…Appetizing? Where had _that_ thought come from?

(You’re just an idiot. An absolute idiot. You’re really lucky it’s Ramora; anyone else would have no chance at all of dragging these thoughts out of your _idiot_ head.)

No sooner does this occur to you, than Ramora offers you a particularly small fruit, and in biting you close your lips around her fingertips.

Ramora does not _gasp,_ of course. Only leans in close, keeping her fingers in your mouth, her smile taking on a devilish tilt. Gazing up at you from lowered lashes with sultry, vivid eyes.

Her fingertips are still just past your lips, the fruit crushed on your salivating tongue – it _is_ quite sour, you decide belatedly. Those eyes are staring up at you still, sour green and sweet red on blackberry flavored skin. _Delicious_.

With great slowness, you pull away, tongue just pressing against each fingertip as you do so. Ramora’s fingertips are sticky and stained with the fruit when they leave your mouth.

For a moment, you stare. And Ramora stares. It’s nice to have a staring contest, because you are quite good at it.

Ram, for her part, has to restrain herself, has to keep a shudder from coursing through her body – she doesn’t doubt for a moment you will ask in concern if you see it and that’s not the way she wants this conversation to go – with the feeling of your wet mouth around her hand. She can’t help but let go a deep breath, just thinking of it.

Those blue eyes staring straight at her, wide and honest and shining with interest. Ram counts herself as one who does not assume, but she would also count herself quite the disgrace to miss so obvious a hint. And the way you’re looking at her like you want to eat her – she had to steady herself, grab her own arm, bite her lip.

 _Gods,_ it’s wonderful to be wanted. To have someone who takes her seriously, someone unashamed to show desire. Nevermind that you look just a tiny bit… intense.

Hells. Who’s she kidding? Ram _loves_ intense.

“Hungry for more, are we?” Her smile is filled with teeth, as though she is the one who is hungry.

“Well, just a few pieces of fruit don’t make a whole meal,” You say, and then reconsider.

Oh, she meant – hm. You suppose that would be nice, but at the moment you can’t quite spend a lot of time…

“If you meant that sexually,” You tell her, “I can’t really make that sort of time commitment at the moment.”

“Time commitment, darling?” Her eyes are twinkling in a pretty way. But you cannot tell if she is excited or amused.

Nodding, you answer, “I try to put a lot of effort in that sort of thing.”

Letting out a wry sigh, Ramora’s grin fades into a smile. “Hmmm. I can’t call it a shame, I’m sure it has its benefits.”

Her smile tells you she is _very_ sure it has its benefits.  

You cross your legs to be more comfortable, but with the hardwood flooring, the sound of your heels makes an audible _clink._

Before you know it, she’s staring down, and your ploy is revealed.

Honestly, you’re not even that disappointed. It wasn’t going to last anyways.

“Those are _beautiful,_ where did you get them?” Ramora purrs – you can almost see hearts in her eyes – and leans over you, not quite laying in your lap. She has, of course, noticed your shoes.

You feel like maybe you have made a mistake.

“Thanks, I stole them from a goddess.”

Ramora’s eyes flicker up to meet yours and you are pleased to see her lips part, and stay that way for a moment.

“They’re not really stolen,” You say quickly, worried you may have given her the wrong impression, “They were made from materials I gathered after fighting her.”

She doesn’t look less surprised. She only… _looks_ at you.

You stand up, and right away Ramora follows you, looking down all the while.

“Then they are truly one of a kind.” There’s something besides incredulity in her voice, low and insistent.

You’re not sure you like where this is going. Still, she was right; there are almost certainly no others like it.

“As far as I know.”

“We’re about the same height, yes?” She remembers yesterday slightly easier than you, although your meeting is clear enough in your head. “I daresay we are even the same size. Let me try.”

On one hand, Ram looks very excited. She obviously adores your shoes, and she’s most likely correct that they would fit her. On the other…

“That would defeat the entire point.” You say.  

Ramora looks up at you, but only slightly. Still, you’d take your victories where you could. She does look quite nice from this angle.

“What point?” She says in a rising voice, eyeing you in a way you much did not like.

Her lipstick, you notice as Ramora steps forward, is a vibrant red that matches her eye.

You step back and nearly stumble, but to your eternal despair, Ramora darts forward and steadies you with an arm about your waist. Gazing up at you all the while with those impish eyes.

“Being taller than you.” You admit. The regret is instantaneous.

“Ooo _ooh?_ ” The way she drags out the sound tells you what a fool you are, what a fool you’ve been.

There will be no end to the teasing. The moment you are not wearing heels Ramora will tower over you again. She’s probably carefully considering her entire wardrobe right now, what kind of shoes she can wear to make herself even taller, and if you are wearing something that does not give you any height that day Ramora may just end up a solid fulm or so above you.

Gods above, why had you ever been honest with this woman? It would have been far better to just brush it off. In fairness, you might not have been able to.

“Never mind,” You say, but your words are futile in the face of her smug… face. “I lied, I’m actually compensating for something. Please do not taunt me for my insecurities.”

Ramora only laughs. You really are doomed. How are you supposed to run off to fight the kind of battle you’d fought forever, when you’d meet someone so new and endearing?

“What would you like to do today? If you had business to attend to, I shan’t keep you any longer, but…” Ramora trails off, gazing at you with a strange look on her face.

You do have business to attend to. Business that you should have been doing yesterday. You didn’t have time to do… whatever had happened back then, and you did anyways; you certainly didn’t have time now.

Those pretty, mismatched eyes blink at you. So unique, so special, so very interested and focused on you. Waiting for your answer.

“I wouldn’t mind spending the,” You almost say ‘day’, but you don’t want to be presumptuous, “Afternoon with you, if you don’t mind.”

As her smile tells you, so Ramora says too, “Not at all!”

Really, you had something to do today. Something you were meant to do tomorrow. But it could wait just a _little_ while longer, couldn’t it?

 

 

“Ah, a food stand.”

You _were_ going to treat her, but Ramora, of course, had other ideas. She had insisted – to be fair, it was true – that she knew all the best places, and she was the one who wanted to go on this outing.

The look he gives you is one you are completely unaccustomed to seeing. And then you realize it is not directed to you at all. He’s looking at Ram.

“I didn’t think your sort came this far.” The stall owner says. He’s doing his best impersonation of you, it seems, because you can tell he’s trying to keep his face neutral.

The twinge of his lips is unmistakable, though. But why did he have such a problem with Ramora?

You glance over to her and see no surprise, only a polite smile, though her eyes are filled with disdain. In an instant you realize – he means Duskwights.

He means _you._ But he does not know it, because your skin is light. Especially compared to hers.

“Just what sort do-” You’re ready to force him to admit to this nonsense, confront him here in public, but Ram only holds out an arm in front of you. Gesturing for you to stand back, let her handle this.

You immediately feel even worse – Ramora’s probably dealt with this a lot, hasn’t she? She would know what to do better than you would. Even to those who did know you were a Duskwight, you were the _Warrior of Light._

A special person. With special status. No one had ever thought of you so, never even suggested – most people did not even realize. You had never been reduced to stealing and thieving, you were a _hero,_ a shining example to everyone. Good and proper. You were sure most of Ishgard was under the impression you were a Wildwood Elezen, or maybe even a native of Ishgard yourself, with how nationalistic some of them were.

That’s the way people see you. But for the likes of Ramora and Foulques, it was different. She has to deal with this… you don’t know how often, but you suspect it’s enough to bother her. Enough to – well. Any amount would bother a person, you should think.

Not that she _looks_ bothered, of course. Ramora is as beautiful and composed as ever, smiling away, even dressed in what could generously be considered a swimsuit. Bare skin all over, pale and blue in the daylight.

Now that you were looking, it seems she _is_ wearing sandals. It’s enough to give you a few ilms on her despite her unusual height.

“And yet here we are. In Kugane.” Her tone is polite in that venomous way you remember the Heaven’s Ward being.

You can just barely see her jaw tighten if you look at her face the right way; Ramora is smiling still.

The owner’s face flickers for a moment, looks between you and Ram. You don’t know if he’s heard of you – most Eozeans have heard of you, though, and only an Eorzean would look down on Duskwights so much. At least, you hope it is only Eorzeans…

“Well, you’re not wanted.”

Here, too? You couldn’t help the frown creeping up your face, coloring your features. How had this bigotry made it all the way to Kugane? And more importantly, why did Ramora look so unsurprised?

You take a step forwards, but Ramora beats you to it, leaning over the table to put her face ilms away from the shopkeep. Even though she needs to bend she towers above him.

“Not wanted?” Ramora’s voice is lower than you had heard it before; growling, almost. Smoothness washed away to reveal jagged edges, painfully sharp. “That’s not very good custom, now is it?”

More and more you want to say something, but the focus she’s put on the owner makes you hesitate to intervene. She obviously knows what she wanted to say about this, do about this. Still your desire to interject churns within you, to chide the shopkeep and tell him the error of his ways.

It would not work, you suspect. But that did not mean you could simply walk away and do nothing.

“Yes, not wanted! I can refuse service to anyone I wish, now get your tits out of my food and your face out of my sight!”

That doesn’t make any sense at all. Ramora is far too tall for her breasts, sizable as they were, to be anywhere near the grill. It is perhaps at the height of her hips, nowhere near her chest, even with her leaning over. Was the seller even looking at his own stand?

Ramora’s disgusted noise brings you out of your contemplation, and she takes your hand to pull you away, not sparing the seller another word.

Despite your reservations, you follow.

 

You walk for a bit before you speak up, unwilling to talk about the man while in earshot.  

“You looked like you wanted to take a bite out of him. And,” You add diligently, “Not in the sexy way.”

That gets a laugh out of her.

“Oh, please, I have better taste than _that._ ” Ram smirks at you, eyes glinting at you from the corner of her lashes as she look at you sideways. “Not to worry. People like him always get theirs.”

You catch a motion of her hand, swinging deftly at her side with –  

“Ramora!” You say, loudly, and then once again more quietly. “Ramora, what did you do _that_ for?”

“And you thought me incapable of restraint,” Ram says with a sigh, simpering at you until you cannot help but soften, “I won’t claim to be good at choosing my battles, but I’ve at _least_ enough experience with his sort to know how to treat them.”

Hearing those words just makes you… sad. Mostly because Ramora seems to be brushing it off so easily. Try as you might, you can’t see any signs that she’s truly upset, and while you suppose that’s a _good_ thing it’s… also not.

“If you wanted something, I could have gotten it. For that matter, I could have given him a piece of my mind, or yours. Stealing from him is only going to make him worse.” You say, but with no real bite to your words.

“How rude! I’ll have you know I did leave payment.” Says Ramora from her place beside you, arms still swinging at her sides, bouncing with her every step.

You look back – the stall owner is holding something up to the light, gaze flickering over to ­ _you_ – but he quickly looks away when he sees you watching. It’s impossible to tell from this distance, but whatever it was that Ramora left…

Lips tilted into a barely noticeable frown, you give Ramora a pointed look.

“Oh, he’ll exchange those Grand Company seals someday.” That’s as much as you can take – a chuckle escapes you.

“We should have just gone elsewhere.” You say lightly as you and her walk down the market stalls.

Ramora shrugs, “Perhaps, but I do like _sticking_ it to people like him.”

As she speaks she brings up the food, some kind of meat you weren’t sure you could name strung along a stick. Well-roasted by the looks of it, and it smells _amazing._ Still, it was a petty thing to do, and she could get in trouble.

You swallow your protests, knowing full well you’d spent more time in the presence of literal royalty than most people had in their entire lives. It doesn’t sit well with you to let her do that, but neither had it sat well with you when that man talked down to her. Ramora didn’t need rescuing, and you would only come across as condescending if you said any more.

“Want some?” Ram offers, smiling just enough for her teeth to poke out below her lips. They were very white against her lipstick, and whiter still against her skin.

Shaking your head, “No. You- I don’t like to deal with people like him at all.”

Picking up on what you wanted to say is easy as breathing for Ram. “You encounter so many of them, and eventually you get bored just walking away. Angry. I might as well give them the hard time they give me, hm?”

You sigh. It doesn’t feel right to tell her she should be taking the high road, but you aren’t sure what else to say, so you say nothing.

Ram, of course, won’t let it go for a second. She waves the stick in front of your face, letting you smell it, almost taste it in the air. Taunting you.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?”

Speeding up a bit is easy, but of course Ramora keeps pace with you. For the moment you are taller but only barely; her strides are naturally long and she has no trouble hovering the meat just in front of your face.

“Hm, hero? You wouldn’t support my ill-gotten gains, would you?” Ramora says in sing-song, poking at your cheek with the stick as she does it.

That’s absolutely enough. With the greatest speed you can possibly muster, years of training honed as an adventurer, you turn your face quickly and take a bite. Closing your teeth around the stick as you did, you yank it away from her with a savage tear.

“Sira!” Ramora’s voice is bright with laughter, like the sun bearing down on you in the heat of midday. “You scoundrel. And to think I once called you dashing!”

“That was your mistake.” You said, pulling it from your mouth and waggling it in front of her, taunting her like she’d taunted you.

Ram, of course, doesn’t hesitate to close in, but you’re more than ready.

Leaning to the side and stretching your arm up as high as you could, you successfully kept it out of her reach, even as she reaches and reaches for it, even pressing her body against yours to get closer. All for naught; you keep it just out of reach.

For added effect, you placed an arm across her chest, pushing her down even as she stretched her arms out, the same way you might prevent a grabby child from snatching something from your hands.

Ramora’s eyes widen for a moment and it’s hilariously plain to you that she’s not been in this situation before. A warm feeling blooms in your chest. Not too hot, not burning, just a pleasant heat warming you from inside. Sweet and wholesome, like her bemused expression.

“Do you want it back?” You say, stretching to hold it away, still walking forwards, not missing a step. “Do you?”

Her eyes narrow almost immediately and Ramora _pounces,_ propelling herself up and into you in an attempt to get you to stagger, stretching for the stick. You’re prepared, of course. Even her weight against you isn’t enough to destabilize you; you keep your steps even, firmly planted as could be.

You spin a bit, rotating your arm to stay out of her reach as she stumbles onto you, taking a single, controlled step back to stop yourself from falling over.

Changing tactics, Ramora tugs at your arm, holding it with both hands. She’s stronger than you’d expected but not nearly strong enough, not after what you’d lived through. Still, you suspect Ram could make a killing arm wrestling the Adventurer’s Guild back home.

“Well? Do youuuu?” You stretch a bit more, just to exacerbate your point. Make her feel a _tiny_ bit shorter. Served her right.

Her eyes flicker down towards something for a moment but you hold fast. Surely there isn’t anything else she can do; she’d already failed to overpower you. You’re prepared for her to change her angle of attack, too; you’ll immediately swap hands-

Your next step, to your surprise, does not fall on the ground.

Quick as a coeurl, Ram had nudged your heel with her boot on your next footfall, leaving your foot off balance and ready to collapse with your forward momentum.

She catches you, of course, holding you in her arms as she dips you, grinning down. Much like a coeurl, a cat overly pleased with its own antics.

Oh no. Oh, no. Your face, you are certain, is dusted red. It’s not a sunburn.

Her hands are warm on your back, completely steady as she hung the whole of your weight a fulm or two from the ground. She did not tremble for a single heartbeat.

The shock – Ram knows not if it is from being tripped or being caught, held in her arms, but it is plain on your face. Stony features open up in surprise for a moment, and she thinks to herself, quite satisfied, that she has truly rendered you speechless.

She grins down on you, but you’re more concerned with the feeling of – of weightlessness, of hanging in the air. Held aloft only by someone else’s efforts. It’s so strange, to be suspended from the ground like this. Her forearms are lean and you can even feel the muscles tensing beneath you, against you, exerting an easy strength on your back.

The food, of course, has fallen to the ground.

“Sira?” You hear.

“I dropped it.” Giving Ramora a stern look, you glance pointedly to the fallen stick.

In her own head, Ram sees your countenance and doesn’t feel good about it.

For reasons entirely unrelated to your weight (Ram has lifted _far heavier_ partners than you, thank you very much), you start to feel heavy in her arms.

“Darling, have I, ah… overstepped? You need only say the word, I did not mean to…” Ram cannot help how her voice trails off, how her arms feel unsteady with your body pressing down against them. She had not wanted to make you uncomfortable. You don’t look _upset,_ exactly, but you still haven’t said anything and it only raises her worries that you feel attacked by her playful teasing.

Perish the thought – Ram internally scoffs at the phrase, though it is well suited. Just… you don’t look pleased, not at all. And she had… sort of… just gone and tripped you.

“I think _under_ stepped would be the right word, considering where your feet were.” You remark thoughtfully; she smiles wryly.

“Ah… My apologies, darling.” Ram is about to help you up and apologize, and offer to throw herself in the ocean as a substitute for ritual suicide, the most popular form of apology in Kugane by far. But the feeling of a hand on her arm stops her – clutching tightly, as though to avoid falling.

She blinks. You’d had your hand on her arm the whole time, of course, but you had only starting squeezing when she’d moved to lift you – oh. You’re afraid she means to drop you.

Now she’s really messed it up. The other day had gone _so well,_ and here she is upsetting you, tripping you up and bothering you in her misguided attempts to be fun, playful. Your fingertips digging into her shoulders sting almost as much as her foolishness; _why_ had she thought she could just –

Suddenly, she feels a kick at her legs, and promptly falls on top of you.

“Now, we’re even.” You say, peering up at her with eyes like the open blue sky.

Ramora stares. Blinks. Opens her mouth, as though to say something, and then closes it.

“You made me fall, I made you fall,” You tell her helpfully to clarify what you meant.

It does not appear to work. “But I _caught_ you!”

Patiently you return Ramora’s gaze, and calmly inform her, “Yesterday.”

It does not appear to lessen her confusion; she looks at you with widened eyes, adorable and mismatched. Her lips look a lot less lurid when parted so openly, waiting for her to think of what to say.  

“But I caught you _toda-_ ” Ramora pauses in the middle of her sentence. “Yesterday, when I pulled you down?”

“When else? You caught me today, even if you’re the reason I fell.”

“ _You_ caught _me,_ more like,” Ramora says, laying the charm thick on her voice, low and heavy to your ears.

They feel hot, and you wonder if they’re turning pink. It’s sunny out, and your ears are sensitive.

“With your attitude now, I’m wishing I’d just let you fall to your death.”

“Merciless!” She gazes down on you with anything but offense. “And here I thought you were some kind of hero.”

Nodding your head sagely, “Assumptions can be terribly dangerous. Just think where I’d be if I’d gone with my initial assumption you were some sort of proper noble lady.”

Ramora looks torn between insulted, and flattered. It’s an intriguing combination. “Well… I’ll have you know, I may not be a noble, but I am a perfectly proper and upstanding citizen.”

For once, your blank face expresses exactly what you’re feeling.

“Oh, come now. I’m _mostly_ proper.” Ramora grumbles, resting her arm next to your head to better support herself.

This suggestion isn’t _too_ outlandish. She’d treated you quite well last night, after all. But still, no objective analysis would classify the woman on top of you as _‘proper’._ Not that it was a bad thing.

“You’re a bit too lewd, I think. You can be a little proper. In the ways that count.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t look too dissatisfied with your judgement.

“And in the ways that don’t count? Are you enjoying that _lewdness,_ darling?” Purring, Ramora brings herself in closer to you, face ilms away. Her eyes are startlingly bright now, even with the sun behind her and the shadow coating her face.

Did you enjoy it or not? Ramora was a fine partner in conversation, who seemed to like talking to you and who always had something to say.

She smiled at you often and also laughed at things you said. And not in a mocking way. Concerning the flirting and whatnot, that had all been plenty enjoyable.

“Yes,” You conclude, “Very much so.”

Above you Ramora lets out a hum of satisfaction, her whole face brightening. It’s unbelievably charming.

“Well,” There’s a lilt to her voice, green eye glittering in the shadow that tells you Ramora is about to say something… “Considering what you said last night, I suppose this makes much more sense. Prefer being on bottom, do you?"

...Something like that. You purse your lips. What to say to that? Objectively speaking, she has the right of it, but you have this feeling that you can't quite get into it with her right now. 

“I pushed you over once, you’ve pushed me over once. I was on top last time, now you are.” You explain, attempting to gesture with your arm, but failing to because of your position underneath her.

Ram can’t even begin to express her wicked thoughts. It comes out in a grin, just a few too many teeth to look heartwarming, but you are endeared to it all the more.  

Her breath is sweet on your cheek, fruity and warm. Or maybe your cheeks are just warm. The sun is in your eyes, though, and you-

The sun.

You blink up at her. Ramora blinks back.

It’s late. Quite late. Not evening yet, but you are a day late already and it is not getting any earlier. This could be put off no longer. It was time to leave.

You sigh, and Ramora frowns.

“I am sorry. I need to go meet the Lord of the Revel, now.”

Ram frowns harder. _Lord of the Revel._ Who the hell called himself Lord of the Revel? And why would _you_ call him that, too?

“The Lord of the Revel.” _The_ Revel. Not the Lord of Revel. _The_ Lord of _the_ Revel. Ram fancies herself an open minded sort of person, but she can’t help but be concerned about your choice of company.

You nod shortly, which does nothing to assuage her.

When you jump over the edge of the walkway to fall into the Aetheryte Plaza, Ram only becomes more concerned.

“I’ll be back in…” Your pause also does nothing to reassure her. Indeed, everything up until now is doing the _opposite_ of reassuring her. Ram is concerned. “A day, perhaps two.”

“You know where I’m staying,” Ram calls, almost without thinking, “Don’t be a stranger.”

She can’t see it but she suspects you nod at her as you walk towards the Aetheryte. “I will try to meet you again if I do not die.”

“What?!” It’s not entirely a surprise, given the hints she’d seen that you lived a dangerous life, but still!

“Don’t worry! I do not think I will die this time. I will try to be back sooner.” Your shouted reassurances – people were _looking,_ but you seemed not to care one bit – do absolutely nothing to reassure her.

Oh, this isn’t going to end well, Ram thinks to herself. Not well at all.

“Sira!” Ramora calls after you, not following but certainly facing your direction. “I thought you were going to treat me?”

You spare her a glance over your shoulder from the Aetheryte, and smile. “Next time.”

Somehow you got the feeling she’d heard it, even from where she was. For once, when you teleport away to go godslaying, you have something to look forward to afterwards.

 

As you disappear, Ram cannot help but think she has been absolutely right. It was brief, of course, she’d need to see it again-

(And again, and again, and again)

But that small hopeful smile of yours had been _breathtaking._

Ram grins with her teeth and cracks her knuckles in a most unladylike manner.

Time to find this _Lord of the Revel._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by “My Heels Are Longer Than Your Dick”, and other quotes. Also, concerning the “sour green and sweet red on blackberry flavored skin” thing. I told you guys this WoL was a weirdo. Did you listen? If you did, that line shouldn’t have surprised you. 
> 
> Cannon!WoL is the shockingly perceptive and sensitive; you seem to pick up on people’s feelings and intentions very well, and are shown many times to notice it when someone is actually bothered by something. In a completely metatextual decision of my own making, I’ve decided the difference between JP Haurchefant and NA Haurchefant are purely due to the NA WoL having the perceptiveness of a fucking rock when it comes to things that concern themselves. WoL just isn’t used to being a part of the problem – it’s always “This person needs convincing” “Go kill these enemies” “Help reconcile these groups”. NA WoL wouldn't recognize a someone's interest in them as a human being if Aymeric asked them out on a date and said "What are your own personal plans for the future?"
> 
> Ramora’s “What is your love style” thing had me SHOOK. Who doesn’t love a giver? I like me a nice lady who wants to make her partner happy. Touches my heart, it does, when I see people doing just outright thoughtless acts of kindness and selflessness. “I left you a donut”, “When I was at the checkout I remembered you liked this candy bar”, “I saw your missing sock on the floor and put it back”. Little things add up so much. 
> 
> Um. I don’t know if/when LadyRamora will read this, but uh. When you do. Uh.  
> Do I have permission to… uh… raise… the rating… of the story… a bit… for you know… um… l-lewd… things…  
> I haven’t ever written F/F before but I am down to try it out. But I know it might be creepy to read erotica someone else made of your OC! It sounds a little weird even to say! Do not feel even a little bad about asking me not to, because I would totally understand and not write any porn! It’s okay either way!


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